


one day these clouds will no longer seem real

by carvedoutapoem



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, But that's no fun, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Pining, combeferre is the best boyfriend, courfeyrac has issues, courfeyrac-centric, gratuitous overuse of nicknames, kind of?, literally the whole fic could be solved by communication, rated mature bc there's like 3 seconds of a sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carvedoutapoem/pseuds/carvedoutapoem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac tries not to feel embarrassed about the fact that Combeferre didn’t eat the dinner he lovingly prepared. He doesn’t know why the blush rises to his face, but it just – does. It’s embarrassment at himself – you really thought ‘Ferre would rather come home and eat with you than do what he loves?<br/>Whatever. He’s got no right to be embarrassed or annoyed.<br/>“Poor me,” Courf grumbles, as he scrapes the excess food into a plastic tub and pops it into the fridge, hearing Enjolras ranting about how much food the western world wastes in the back of his mind. “My boyfriend’s too busy saving lives to come and eat dinner with me. Boo hoo.”<br/>--<br/>Combeferre's been working late a lot recently, and Courfeyrac's caught him in a few lies. Courfeyrac likes to think of himself as an optimist, but in this case he immediately assumes the worst.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	one day these clouds will no longer seem real

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song ["i will be enough"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSpf4WKfpl8) by carrie hope fletcher!  
> this fic is kind of inspired by the modern family episode "Game Changer" S1/19 ?? idk lmao

“Combeferre?” Courfeyrac says cheerfully as his boyfriend picks up the phone.

“Courf?” Combeferre sounds strained. “Now’s not really a good time.”

“Oh – is, is your shift not over? I thought you’d be on your way home.”

“No, I’m uh, picking up some extra hours.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac says, looking disappointedly at the meal he’d spent the past hour making, laid out on the table.

“I’ll be home about ten-ish if that’s alright. Have you eaten?” Courf chuckles. Just like ‘Ferre, always checking up on those he cares about.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Combeferre says, and Courf blushes. He knows it’s silly to be embarrassed, but he can’t help it. “I’ll just grab something on the way home, it’s no big deal.”

“I’ll make you a plate,” Courf says softly. “Don’t spend any of your money.”

“Our money, Courf.”

“Our money,” Courfeyrac repeats dutifully. It’s a thing they’re working on, Courfeyrac’s insecurities about anything to do with them as a couple.

“And thanks, that would be great.” Combeferre breaks off as a voice sounds in the background. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Break’s over. See you at ten, love you!” Courfeyrac feels the familiar ripple of joy roll through him when Combeferre throws those words casually at him. He loves that they’re at the stage where they can just say it casually to each other – though nothing about Courfeyrac’s feelings for Combeferre are remotely casual.

“I love you too!” he exclaims, but Combeferre’s already hung up.

\--

Courfeyrac barely picks at his dinner, and piles more of the lasagne he doesn’t eat onto Combeferre’s plate. Courf’s a pretty good cook, which is a good thing because he maintains that Combeferre’s cooking could kill somebody. He tends to get distracted halfway through and ends up nearly setting something on fire. He covers ‘Ferre’s plate with a plastic lid to keep the heat in. He tries not to feel embarrassed about the fact that Combeferre didn’t eat the dinner he lovingly prepared. He doesn’t know why the blush rises to his face, but it just – does. It’s embarrassment at himself – you really thought ‘Ferre would rather come home and eat with you than do what he loves?

Whatever. He’s got no right to be embarrassed or annoyed.

“Poor me,” Courf grumbles, as he scrapes the excess food into a plastic tub and pops it into the fridge, hearing Enjolras ranting about how much food the western world wastes in the back of his mind. “My boyfriend’s too busy saving lives to come and eat dinner with me. Boo hoo.” He rubs a hand through his hair and stares around at the kitchen he’s already cleaned. He’d done it while he waited for Combeferre to get home after cooking. He usually does it after they eat, with ‘Ferre loading the dishwasher, and both of them singing or dancing along to whatever song comes on shuffle on Courf’s iPod.

They haven’t cleaned the kitchen together (or done anything domestic together) in a while. Combeferre’s usually busy with school or his residency and Courf is nothing if not understanding. He always puts ‘Ferre before his schoolwork, but that’s because ‘Ferre is important. Courfeyrac? Not so much. It’s understandable that he’s not high on Combeferre’s priorities list.

They’d had a good conversation when they first got together about the importance of Courfeyrac being open with Combeferre whenever he was feeling inadequate or unimportant.

(“I know I can get kind of distracted sometimes,” Combeferre had shrugged. “But I want you to know that you’ll always come first.”)

And it’s not that Courfeyrac hasn’t tried – he’s tried to have a conversation with ‘Ferre about it. He’s tried six times in the past month. He can feel himself slowly, oh-so-slowly slipping back into the self-destructive, self-hating mind-set he had when he first met Combeferre in his first year of university. Back when he was dangerously into the party scene and was hanging around with some unsavoury characters (Éponine would snort at that description of Montparnasse), quiet, bookish Combeferre was exactly what he needed to ground himself. Courf’s mental health has never been the best, and coming to university and discovering comfort at the bottom of a bottle very nearly destroyed him.

But Combeferre changed all that. He’d bumped into him in the library and been instantly enamoured with him, everything from his glasses to his grandpa clothing rendered Courfeyrac love-struck. He’d fallen in instantly with Combeferre’s friend Enjolras, whom he already sort-of-knew from some of his lectures, and over the years they’d collected a little group of misfits. Combeferre made Courfeyrac want to be a better person.

He was going to bring it up today, actually. This is the fourth late shift Combeferre has worked this week, and it’s only Friday.

But, it’s whatever. Courf’s a big boy, he doesn’t need Combeferre to hold his hand. (He can’t remember the last time Combeferre held his hand.)

It’s just a little jarring to be ripped from his routine, that’s all. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He sends out a few hopeful tendrils of communication, but all of his friends are busy with their various significant others. Apparently, it’s date night for Cosette, Éponine, and Marius, Éponine’s single night off from watching Azelma and Gavroche.

Joly doesn’t respond within five minutes, which means he’s with either Musichetta, Bossuet, or both. Little else prevents an immediate response.

Combeferre is at work, and Enjolras is too. Grantaire texts him back quickly.

From: R  
To: Courf  
[20:19]  
sorry courf ive got a deadline L tomorrow?

He texts back that he’d love to, can’t wait. Screw Enjolras for bringing out the best in his boyfriend and making R care about deadlines. His phone chimes and he sighs as Jehan informs him that they’re about to spend the night at Feuilly and Bahorel’s place for the first time.

To: Jehangel  
[20:23]  
Ooooh, good luck! Have fun, be yourself, use protection!!! <3

Jehan responds with a kissy emoji, and Courf slumps further into the sofa.

He’s just so bored.

He rolls his eyes over to the clock. 20:34. Time for bed, apparently.

\--

He’s woken up to the sound of Combeferre clattering around in the kitchen. He groans, and looks at the clock. 23:37.

He falls asleep again before Combeferre gets in bed, and wakes up to a note on the pillow next to him.

_Courf –_

_You looked too peaceful to wake up. Enjolras called, so I’ll be at his._

_Sorry about missing dinner – it was delicious._

_Lunch @ the Musain @ 1pm? My treat._

_< 3, Ferre x_

Courf can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He loves Combeferre so much, it’s physically impossible to contain it all.

He’s got the best boyfriend ever.

-

He spends nearly an entire hour getting ready to meet Combeferre, which is – ridiculous. They’ve been dating for two years. They _live_ together, for crying out loud. Combeferre has seen Courf vomiting, crying, in various states of tearing-his-hair-out stress and he decided to stay. It’s not like he’ll leave if Courfeyrac doesn’t spend half an hour on his hair. Courf knows this but does it anyway. He’s vain at heart.

He doesn’t acknowledge the niggle of anxiety in his mind, the one that’s always kind of there. The one that’s telling him he’s going to lose ‘Ferre soon. It’s the root of all of his insecurities and doubts, and he shouldn’t listen to it. It never has kind things to say.

He pulls on his bright yellow jeans to match his sunflower-covered jacket and heads out the door with his phone and wallet. It’s a short walk to the Musain from their apartment, and the sun is shining high in the sky. He hums to himself as he walks along, ignoring the anxiety in his mind. He’s going to see Combeferre! For the first time in nearly two days. He sometimes feels like he saw Combeferre more when they weren’t actually living together. He shakes his head, determinedly. He’s not going to think about that.

He reaches the Musain with plenty of time to spare, and his phone rings just before he’s about to walk in. It’s R, so he picks it up, and leans against the wall outside the Musain.

“R, my good man. What can I do you for?”

“Courf, I think I’m about to die,” Grantaire says, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice.

“What’s the matter?”

“Enjolras just asked me to move in with him!”

“Oh my god!”

“I know!”

“So, what did you say?”

“I panicked! I said I’d get back to him.” Courf rolls his eyes heavenwards.

“R, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.” Courf groans, thinking of how panicked Enjolras will be. He’s pretty capable, but Grantaire can get to him in a way nobody else can.

“Don’t you want to move in with him?”

“Of course I do, but he’ll get sick of me. You know he will.” Grantaire sighs down the phone. “I’ll come in wasted, or bruised from a bar fight, or I’ll vomit on his hardwood floors and we’ll get in a fight about my sobriety and –“

“So, you said no, because you’re inventing imaginary fights in your head? I have to say R, even for you and Enjolras that’s impressive.”

“Courf, you don’t understand. You and ‘Ferre are weirdly co-dependent, living together was never going to be an issue for you two.” Courf chuckles.

“You don’t know the half of it, R.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Courf chews his lip anxiously for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter. Now, listen to me, call Enjolras, tell him you want to talk about things. Also, tell him he’s a moron for doing this in front of Combeferre.”

“What do you mean?” R asks.

“Combeferre went round to Enjolras’ to do some campaign work, this morning.” Grantaire hums thoughtfully.

“He must be hiding in Enjolras’ airing cupboard then, because I’ve not seen him, and I’ve been here all day.” Courfeyrac feels his stomach drop, the tight curl of panic beginning at the base of his spine.

“A-are you sure?”

“Yep, pretty sure.” Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to make of that, so he clears his throat, and changes the subject.

“Wait, R, are you hiding in Enjolras’ bathroom?” There’s a pregnant pause, and then Grantaire hangs up.

Courfeyrac slides his phone into his pocket, taking a deep breath.

Why would Combeferre lie?

He gets his answer in seconds, as he walks through the door to the Musain, and says hi to Musichetta, who smiles at him and bustles off to serve somebody else. He spots the back of Combeferre’s head and begins to walk towards him. He stops when he sees a blonde woman sat with Combeferre. She’s laughing, and then they both get to their feet. They hug each other, kiss each other on the cheeks, and then Combeferre grabs her hand, saying something intently to her. He presses a kiss to her palm, and Courfeyrac feels sick. She beams at him and then leaves through the other exit. Courf leans against the counter, steadying himself.

 _She could just be a colleague_ , his mind supplies helpfully.

 _Doubtful_ , another part of his mind hisses. _What kind of colleagues kiss each other’s palms?_

He shakes his head as Musichetta nudges his arm.

“You alright, babe?” He gathers the pieces of his heart that have fallen so far to the ground and musters up his best Courfeyrac-beam.

“Fine, Chetta.”

With that, he makes his way over to Combeferre and shakily slides into the opposite seat. Combeferre grins at him tiredly.

“Hey, Courf.”

“Hi, ‘Ferre. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Combeferre raises an eyebrow, no doubt at the unexpected formality.

“No, I only just got here.”

_Strike one._

Musichetta comes over with their regular coffees, and they thank her profusely and order their meals. When she’s gone, Courf asks;

“So, what did Enjolras want?”

“Oh, we just went over some campaigning stuff.”

_Strike two._

“Sounds like fun!”

“Yeah, it was alright. So, what were you up to last night?”

“Oh, I just watched some TV until I went to bed. What time did you get home at?”

“About ten-ish,” Courf remembers him clattering around at near midnight last night, and sighs.

_Strike three._

Courf watches him sadly, as ‘Chetta places their food in front of them, and they both dig in. Despite the fact that the scones they serve here are amongst some of Courfeyrac’s favourite foods, he finds he has very little appetite.

Ferre has lied to him three times in the space of two minutes – how many more lies has he told?

“So, what are you up to for the rest of the day, then?” Courf shrugs.

“I was planning on hanging out with R at some point, but I think he’s with Enjolras. You?”

“Mm, following my wonderful boyfriend around on my day off?” Courfeyrac blushes demurely and dips his head.

“I could work with that.”

“Oh, could you? How magnanimous of you.” Courf laughs, and takes a bite of his cheese scone, suddenly hungry.

He loves spending time with ‘Ferre.

He’ll freak out about this later.

\--

The thing is – he knows it’s not healthy, but Courfeyrac positively adores Combeferre. As far as Courf is concerned, the older man can do no wrong. To say he worships the ground Combeferre walks on wouldn’t be a stretch – but he’s much more private about his adoration than Grantaire is.

He’s no fool, he knows it definitely springs from poor mental health. Combeferre is just so wonderful, and that he would deign to be with somebody like Courfeyrac is a true act of grace and kindness, if not _charity_. 

When insomnia takes hold of him, he whiles away the time memorising every line and bump that makes up Combeferre’s face, from the crow’s feet (“Laughter lines!” Courf always insists) around his eyes, to the red marks on either side of his nose where his glasses rest all day. He never says it out loud, but he knows privately that he’s memorising it for the day that Combeferre wakes up and realises he could be with somebody so much better-looking, funnier, and more intelligent than Courfeyrac.

Somebody capable of keeping up when ‘Ferre goes on tangents about bioluminescence or quantum physics or one of the other million subjects Combeferre can hold an intelligent conversation about.

When that day comes, Courfeyrac will leave for no other reason than Combeferre wants him gone. He’ll do it for Combeferre – he’d do anything for Combeferre. He’ll leave with a smile on his face, and the tears will only fall when there’s no risk of Combeferre seeing them. He won’t fight it because that wouldn’t make Combeferre happy. (All he wants is for ‘Ferre to be happy.)

And when he sees Combeferre around, at meetings, with his new partner, Courf will fold them into the group with kind smiles and warm hugs and gentle words – because Combeferre has given him this time _now_  to cherish.

And that means no bitterness when he outlives Combeferre’s interest.

\--

Courfeyrac can’t find his phone anywhere, so he picks up the landline they have in their bedroom. He doesn’t see the text on the phone that says **CALL IN PROGRESS** because he’s in a bit of a rush. He’s meeting up with Jehan and Cosette for lunch before going shopping, and he’s already ten minutes late. He just needs to ring to let them know he’ll be a bit late and blesses Combeferre’s incessant need to be irritatingly prepared for any and all emergencies. He’d programmed their friends’ mobile numbers into the landline phone, despite Courfeyrac’s protests that nobody ever uses the landline.

As he goes to press the contacts button, he hears a voice on the other end. He raises the phone to his ear curiously and sucks in a breath at hearing Combeferre’s voice.

“He’s already getting suspicious, and I’m running out of excuses. If I have to lie and say I’m working late one more time, he’s going to wonder why there’s no extra money going into the joint account.”

“Does he even check your account balance?” Enjolras says, and Courfeyrac nearly drops the phone at hearing his best friends’ voice. “Or does he just blindly trust that you’re not stealing from him?” Combeferre chuckles a little at that.

“I don’t think he checks it frequently.” Courf’s heart drops in his chest. He never checks it – never thought that _Combeferre_  would…

“Well, if you need an excuse to go and see her, you can always say you’re coming to talk to me about campaign stuff.” He hears Enjolras shift on the other end of the line. “God knows that puts him and R right to sleep.”

“That’s a good idea, thanks, Enj.”

“No problem, ‘Ferre. And listen, about the-“ Courf slams the phone back into its holster, not knowing (or caring) if it made a noise on the other ends of the line.

See her?

The blonde woman?

Courf breathes in. The corners of his eyes prick with tears. He very carefully does not cry. Won’t let himself.

It’s not just the sting of the near confirmation that Combeferre is cheating on him. It’s the fact that Enjolras would help Combeferre.

Enjolras, who has always so viciously condemned cheating.

Unless…he’d known something Courfeyrac hadn’t. About how miserable Combeferre was with him, no doubt. Then he might be inclined to help Combeferre sneak off and see somebody who makes him happy behind his back.

The sting ripples across his skin. He feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten as he hunches in on himself. This is heartbreak in its purest form. It feels like Combeferre’s just scooped his insides out with a spoon and left him, torn open and bleeding on the ground. Exposing his most private areas to the world. Left to rot.

It’s the betrayal that stings. Courfeyrac cares about nothing in the world more than his friends, and he’d happily lay down his life for any of them. They mean everything to him. Especially Combeferre and Enjolras.

Combeferre leaving him to be with somebody else – he could handle it if it meant they could still be friends, that Courfeyrac could still adore him privately.

But all he can think of now is that he won’t even get to be _friends_ with them anymore, the two people he’s most loyal to in the world won’t want him anymore and that –

That burns.

\--

He barely makes it ten minutes into lunch with Jehan and Cosette before spilling his guts.

He tells them his suspicions, and what he’d overheard. They pat his hands soothingly, and Cosette promises to rain down unholy hell if it’s true. He shyly tells her about Enjolras, and she stiffens.

“If that good-for-nothing brother of mine is helping Combeferre cheat, I’ll murder him in his sleep, and I know R would help me,” she promises. “Éponine as well. Marius would probably be a lookout.”

Courf chuckles, trying not to cry.

“Feuilly and Bahorel would kill him, as well,” Jehan promises, as they pat his hand. “You’re our friend, Courf.”

“So is Combeferre.”

“But if he’s cheating on you, he’s not my friend anymore,” Jehan says firmly. “And Enjolras isn’t either if he’s helping.” A tear rolls down Courf’s face which he wipes away hastily.

“If he’s helping, I’ll call Papa,” Cosette threatens. “He’ll give Enjolras the ‘disappointed in you’ talk.” Courf chuckles wetly.

“You guys are the best.”

“We know,” Cosette says, primly sipping her green tea. “Now, Jehan. Tell us. Who’s bigger, Feuilly, or Bahorel?” Jehan lets out a delighted giggle, and they launch into a retelling of the night’s events. Courfeyrac wipes his cheeks free of his tears and puts Combeferre out of his mind.

For the minute.

\--

Combeferre’s phone is ringing. Combeferre’s in the kitchen, getting food for them to eat whilst they watch a show, so Courfeyrac picks it up. It’s nothing he’s not done before, so he’s got no reason to feel suspicious. The caller ID simply says the number, there’s no name.

“Hello, Combeferre’s phone?”

“Who is this?” The voice is heavily accented. Spanish, Courf thinks.

“Um, Courfeyrac, who’s this?”

The line goes dead. He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it anxiously. ‘Ferre walks back into the room, and when he sees his phone in Courf’s hand, he panics.

“Why did you answer my phone?” Courf frowns.

“I thought it might have been an important call…?”

“Well, don’t do it again,” Combeferre says sharply, and Courf flinches, which goes unnoticed by ‘Ferre. Why does he have to be so cruel? He knows how devoted Courfeyrac is to him, and he rewards him with barbed words.

“I-I’m sorry, ‘Ferre,” he says, and Combeferre shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” He says. “Sorry for snapping. All this working late is making me cranky.”

Right. Working late.

“It’s fine,” Courfeyrac whispers. He snuggles into Combeferre’s side and tries desperately not to wonder how many more times he’ll get to do this.

\--

A few days before Courf’s birthday, there’s a work party at Combeferre’s hospital.

“Do you want to come?” Courf breathes in carefully.

“Why wouldn’t I want to come?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly told everyone that I have a boyfriend. Only the guys I work with most often, and they’re all straight.”

“Is Joly not going? Surely he’d make more of a splash bringing two dates.”

“Joly doesn’t work in the same department as me, it’s a department thing. I think his party is next week.”

“Well, I’d love to come, ‘Ferre. Can I wear a bowtie?”

Combeferre chuckles and brushes a thumb against his cheekbone.

“Of course you can, Courf.”

Courfeyrac hums happily under Combeferre’s attentions, and treasures the feel of Combeferre’s hand on his face, bringing his own hand to rest on top of ‘Ferre’s, like a drowning man clinging to a lifeboat.

“But you might want to choose one of your less conspicuous ones. It’s a bit of a conservative crowd.” Courf wilts a little, remembering the way the blonde woman had dressed. A white shirt and black skinny jeans. Understated. Classy.

Ferre has said many times that he likes Courfeyrac’s eclectic fashion tastes, but _maybe_ , Courf thinks desperately, if he tones it down a notch, Combeferre won’t leave just yet.

Courfeyrac can practically feel his time with Combeferre slipping away, and the more he tries to keep a hold of it the faster it slips away. Like sand in his hands.

\--

As they get closer and closer to the hospital, Courf can feel Combeferre’s anxiety mounting.

“Hey, don’t worry, ‘Ferre,” he laughs, swinging their linked hands as they walk along the street. “It’s me – who doesn’t love me?” Combeferre’s thumb rubs small circles into Courfeyrac’s hand.

“I’m just worried about what the bosses will think.”

“They’ll think that you’re incredibly good for their diversity program? Black, liberal, and pansexual? They might name a ward in your honour.” Combeferre’s serious face breaks then as he gives a chuckle.

“You’re right. You always are.” He leans in to give Courf a peck on the lips, which Courfeyrac immediately tries to deepen until they’re interrupted by a sudden shout.

“All right, get it Combeferre!” They break away, blushing, and Combeferre soon locates the source of the yelling. It’s a group of people around Combeferre’s age, about six of them. Two girls, four guys. They’re clearly all doctors, Courf recognises the stressed faces they wear.

“Are all your work friends single?” He mutters, and Combeferre laughs.

“Most of them, yeah.”

They meet in front of the entrance, and Combeferre squeezes his hand shyly.

“Guys, this is Courfeyrac, Courf, these are the guys I work with most of the time.”

Courfeyrac unleashes his trillion-megawatt smile.

“Hiya! I’ve heard so much about all of you!”

“Oh my god, he’s just as adorable as you said,” One of the girls says. Courfeyrac’s the same height as her, which he appreciates. He gets sick of having to look up to tall fuckers like Combeferre all the time.

“You said I was adorable? Aww, babe.” Combeferre blushes but rolls his eyes.

“Stop. We should go inside.”

He grabs Combeferre’s hand and drags him up the stairs, with ‘Ferre a few steps below him he turns to walk backwards up them.

“Come on, you’ve got to introduce me to all your colleagues, and let me charm them for you!”

“Because I’m not charming enough?”

“Babe, there’s a reason I’m the one people approach at rallies. I’m friendly! You’re standoffish.” Several of Combeferre’s colleagues snigger.

“If I’m so standoffish, why are you with me?” Combeferre asks, and Courfeyrac shrugs.

“Who knows? I must be mad.”

\--

After Combeferre introduces him to people, he’s dragged away by a superior to have a chat about something or other. He asks Courf to get him a drink, which Courfeyrac dutifully does. On the way back, he overhears Combeferre’s name in a group of men Courf doesn’t recognise.

“What about that Combeferre, eh?”

“What about him?”

“Did you not hear? He brought his _boyfriend_ with him.”

“What’s…wrong with that?” Courf hears another guy ask. “You brought your wife.”

“It’s weird. I just always thought there was something off about him.”

“Whatever, dude. Anyway, did you hear that Marlas wants us to…” the rest is cut off as Courf moves away, to rest against a pillar slightly. No matter how many times he gets spit on at rallies by homophobes for holding Combeferre’s hand, no matter how many dirty looks and bawdy jokes the police give him when Combeferre comes to pick him up from a holding cell and Courf greets him with a kiss, he still tends to block out the world when he’s with Combeferre. It’s always a little upsetting when he remembers not everybody is as accepting as their friends.

He shakes his head and goes to find Combeferre. He finds him with the same group of people that saw them kiss, and hands him his glass.

“Uh, ‘Ferre?” He asks and unwittingly catches the attention of the entire group.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that guy, over there?” Courf asks, pointing out the man who’d made the comment.

“That’s Gueulemer. Why?” Courf chuckles slightly.

“He has a fully functioning gaydar, apparently.” Combeferre looks wryly amused, one corner of his mouth turning up.

“How so?”

“According to him, he’s always known there was something off about you. The something off is me, by the way. In case you were wondering.” Combeferre laughs, but Combeferre’s friends all frown at that.

“What did he say?” one of the girls asks. Courf shrugs.

“The regular homophobic vitriol,” he drawls.

“And you’re not mad?” Combeferre’s friend Etienne asks. Combeferre shrugs.

“We’re used to it. Anyway, I was telling the guys all about that one professor you had for Torts?” Courfeyrac laughs, knowing instantly what professor he means, and launches into the tale of Professor Javert becoming convinced that Cosette’s and Enjolras’ adoptive father, Valjean, was stealing stationary from the University, and the wild goose chase that had ensued.

\--

When the party ends, people filter out in dribs and drabs. Combeferre takes him round to say goodbye to everybody, and they all tell him how nice it was to meet him. Combeferre grabs his hand and spins him around when they reach the street. It’s a warm night, and he can hear the distant sounds of police cars, parties, people yelling, but all he can see is Combeferre.

He’s so beautiful. He looks positively ethereal, dark skin glowing under the streetlights. He’s had a bit to drink, and he’s positively giddy. He grabs Courf’s hand and pulls him close to him.

“I love you,” he says earnestly, looking into Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“I love you too,” Courf giggles, and closes the distance between them, kissing him earnestly. A car roars past them, and even a shouted slur as they go past doesn’t interrupt them. Nothing can bring Courf down right now.

They make it back to their apartment, giggly and drunk, and Courfeyrac forces two glasses of water into Combeferre before downing two himself.

Once they get into the bedroom, Combeferre strips to his boxers and pulls Courfeyrac close to him as he falls down to the bed.

“I have something to tell you,” he says, seriously. “But you can’t know what it is.” Courfeyrac laughs.

“When can I know?”

“Your birthday,” he slurs slightly. “How many days is that?”

“Three, ‘Ferre.”

“Three days. And then you’ll know.”

“Will I like the surprise?”

“Dunno.”

With that, he promptly falls asleep. Courf laughs at him, bemused at how quickly he’d left the land of the conscious. He pulls the covers over both of them and spends a while studying his features. He replays Combeferre’s words in his mind and stiffens. Combeferre has something to tell him on his birthday, and he doesn’t know whether or not Courf will like it. He tries not to think the worst, but he can’t help it.

Combeferre wouldn’t break up with him on his birthday, would he?

\--

Combeferre takes the day off for his birthday. It’s a Saturday, so Courf has no classes. They spend the morning in bed, Combeferre waking him up with a surprise blowjob. It’s been a fair few weeks (months) since they’ve had sex, so he comes embarrassingly quickly, hands in Combeferre’s hair as he thrusts desperately into the other man’s mouth. Combeferre swallows it, laughing as he looks at Courfeyrac’s face.

“Happy birthday, love.”

He leans up to kiss him, and presses kisses to the side of Courf’s neck, finishing with one at the base of his throat.

Courf reaches down, but Combeferre’s still soft.

“I jerked off in the shower while you were sleeping,” Combeferre informs him between kisses. “Speaking of showers, you should have one. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Courfeyrac laughs as he gets to his feet. Combeferre delivers a stinging slap to his backside.

“Watch yourself, birthday boy.” Courfeyrac gets into the shower, still grinning.

He washes leisurely, massaging shampoo into his hair like he has all the time in the world. He follows it with conditioner and then dries his hair quickly with a towel. It’ll air dry until it’s a curly mess, the way Combeferre calls “cute” every time, without fail. He wants as many compliments as he can get on what might be his last birthday with ‘Ferre. The thought makes his throat tight, and his eyes sting, but he blinks away the tears quickly.

It will be perfect. It will.

\--

He doesn’t get dressed because Combeferre isn’t either. They sit and eat pancakes, that Combeferre has miraculously managed to cook without burning. They eat in companionable silence, and when they finish, Combeferre tells him to go and get dressed. Courfeyrac does, laughing, and watches Combeferre dress appreciatively. Then, Combeferre’s pouncing on him, and he’s got a blindfold wrapped around his eyes before he can say “Stop!” He laughs, running his hands over it.

“This is kinky, ‘Ferre.”

“Just follow me, you dopey bastard.” Combeferre’s voice is extremely fond, and he presses a kiss to Courfeyrac’s cheek. He leads him out of the apartment, making sure he’s got everything he needs, and into the elevator. Normally, Combeferre insists they take the stairs, but Courfeyrac is confident he’d fall and crack his head open if he tried to walk down them with a blindfold on. He can barely manage when in full possession of his sight.

He’s led out to what must be a taxi, seeing as they don’t have a car, and his ears are covered as ‘Ferre tells the guy where to go. The journey is fairly short, which tells him nothing, because all of his friends live within walking distance. He gets out of the car with some difficulty, and he’s pushed through doorways and into another lift.

“This is becoming tiring, darling,” Courf giggles, and Combeferre pats his head.

“We’re nearly there.”

He’s soon led through a hall, and Combeferre knocks on what is presumably a door.

He’s pushed through it, and there’s a lot of stifled giggles as ‘Ferre’s hands undo the blindfold. It’s pulled off, and he blinks, adjusting to the light, as all of his friends yell “Surprise!” He gapes, genuinely shocked. He hadn’t given his birthday a lot of thought, honestly.

“Guys!” he says, feeling tears well in his eyes. He’s always been a crier.

“Oh, he’s crying already!” Feuilly crows, victorious. “Joly, you owe me five euros,” Joly grumbles but hands it over good-naturedly.

“I hope you don’t mind that it’s in the morning,” Jehan says anxiously. “Feuilly’s got work tonight, and we thought it would be more of a surprise if it was in the morning.” Courf laughs and pulls them into a hug.

“Thank you for sacrificing your apartment for me, Jehan.” He recognises it as belonging to Jehan now that he can see it.

“My pleasure, dear.”

\--

The party is well underway, and Courfeyrac hasn’t let go of Combeferre’s hand since he stepped inside. Combeferre is handling all presents for him, with a bag full of them off to the side. He’s talking eagerly to R about potential decorating ideas for R’s new art room – Enjolras’ spare room, whilst Combeferre talks to Joly about some tropical disease. People who haven’t got work later have started drinking, despite it being only 2pm – as is evidenced by Éponine’s impromptu tackling of Marius, demanding he give her a piggyback ride. Courf scans the room, feeling warm inside as he observes this bunch of morons he calls his friends. He watches Jehan sit on Bahorel’s lap, and Bahorel’s face light up at the sight of the young poet. Cosette slaps Enjolras’ shoulder as she attempts to braid his hair, Musichetta fondly tuts at Bossuet, who’s managed to spill his drink all over Jehan’s carpet. Feuilly’s looking at his watch grumpily.

Eventually, at 4pm, he wanders over to Courf.

“Courf, sorry dude, but I gotta go, duty calls.” Courf kisses him on the cheek.

“Thank you for coming, Feuilly! You’re the best.” Feuilly blushes and heads over to say goodbye to his partners.

Bahorel leaves as well, to give Feuilly a lift. He ruffles Courf’s hair, which is a much better goodbye than the one he gets from Éponine, who is practically incoherent, as tends to happen when she doesn’t have to look after Gavroche and Azelma for a day or two, so Marius and Cosette take her home, muttering well-wishes as they go. Bossuet knocks over one of Jehan’s glasses and cuts a deep gash in his hand whilst trying to clean it up, so Joly and Musichetta hurriedly depart to the Musain to grab Musichetta’s emergency first aid kit. R and Enjolras make their excuses after throwing several pointed looks at Combeferre that Courf doesn’t know what to make of. They stay to help Jehan clean up a little, before Bahorel returns, and Jehan dreamily tells Courf to have a good birthday as they lead Bahorel to the bedroom.

They certainly don’t want to hear that, so Courfeyrac and Combeferre leave pretty quickly after that.

“Did you enjoy that?” Combeferre asks, and Courf nods, laughing.

“It was so fun. And I was really surprised!”

“Well, we’ve got one more thing to do today,” Combeferre says, teasing.

“What’s that?”

“I’m taking you to dinner, Fey.” Courf feels warm inside at the nickname.

“Dinner? Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

\--

Courf spends a long time deliberating over what to wear, and settles on something fairly understated. He’s had a brilliant day, and he’s not going to ruin it now by wearing something too bright. He thinks of how happy ‘Ferre was with the blonde woman, who dressed nicely without flashiness. When he reveals himself, Combeferre raises an eyebrow.

“No bow-tie?” Courfeyrac shrugs, scratching his neck.

“Do you not like it?”

“No, of course I do,” Combeferre rushes to soothe. “It’s just quite, plain. For you.” Courf flushes, and shrugs.

“You look nice.” He does. Combeferre always looks nice, so it’s not really a new thing, but it needed to be commented on.

“Thank you. Now come on, we’ll be late.”

The restaurant is fancy, without being too lofty. Courf’s eyes bulge when they get the menu and he spots the prices. Combeferre laughs at him softly.

“It’s my treat, don’t worry about the prices. All that working late I’ve been doing will pay off now.”

Working late. Right.

The dinner is wonderful, the food is exquisite, the dessert even more so.

“So, do I get to know the surprise now?” Courfeyrac asks coyly, taking a sip of his wine when they finish. Combeferre raises an eyebrow, suddenly serious.

“What surprise?”

“The thing you had to tell me. You wouldn’t stop talking about it after your work do.”

Ferre scowls slightly, then.

“Not yet.” Courf nods, eyes on his wine glass. From the look on his face, it’s not a nice surprise.

\--

As soon as they get home, Courf is being pressed up against their front door in a messy, animalistic kiss. _One last fuck, before you’re gone forever_ , Courf’s mind supplies as Combeferre leads him to the couch. He grabs ‘Ferre’s hair and pulls him down into a kiss, trying to memorise the exact feel and taste of him. He’ll need those memories to get through the coming lonely nights.

They kiss for a long while, tapering off into something more gentle. ‘Ferre pulls away to press kisses against his neck as he undoes Courf’s shirt. Tears well in his eyes as he hears Combeferre whisper, “So beautiful, Courfeyrac. Love you so much.” They spill down his face without warning, and Courfeyrac lets out a slight sob.

Combeferre freezes where he’s kissing Courf’s chest, and he’s immediately cradling Courfeyrac’s face.

“Courf? Darling, what’s wrong?” Courfeyrac just cries harder at the pet name and tries to pull Combeferre back into a kiss, which is understandably rejected. He must look a sight.

“Please, kiss me, ‘Ferre, please,” he begs. God, why does Courfeyrac have to ruin _everything_?

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong, babe.” He pulls Courfeyrac up gently and sits him down on the couch. He has that serious look on his face again, which can only mean trouble.

Courfeyrac can’t even breathe as they sit down because Combeferre’s really going to do it. He’s going to leave Courfeyrac on his birthday, and Courfeyrac will never be able to celebrate it again because all he'll ever be able to remember is how the love of his life left him on this day, however many years ago. He trembles a little as ‘Ferre turns to face him, and he’s immediately set off by the frown on Combeferre’s face.

“Is everything okay, Courf?”

He nods desperately, and tries to go for a kiss again, but Combeferre grips his wrists gently, and Courfeyrac finally breaks. It’s like a dam bursting open, he couldn’t stop his feelings spilling out now no matter how much he wants to.

“Don’t make me _go_ , ‘Ferre, please,” Courfeyrac sobs, begging. “Just give me one more night with you, that’s all I want. Just one more night of lying with you and knowing you’re mine, please, please, I know you’re leaving, and that’s – that’s fine,” his voice breaks, and he feels so transparent. “Just please don’t leave me yet.”

“What?” Combeferre says, frowning for real now. “What are you talking about?” He says it gently, and oh, god. Combeferre’s going to be _kind_ about it. His pity is palpable. It would be so much easier if he were cruel, but of course he wouldn’t be cruel about it. It’s Combeferre.

“Tomorrow when you wake up, I’ll leave without saying anything else. I won’t beg you to let me stay, just _please_  don’t break up with me on my birthday. I couldn’t take that.” He’s really sobbing now, tears and snot mingling in what cannot be a remotely attractive combination as they roll down his face.

“Wait, what?” Combeferre asks, aghast. “Courfeyrac, I’m not _breaking up_  with you!” Courfeyrac looks up at him suddenly, so confused, and still so sad.

“You’re not?”

“Of course I’m not! Oh, sweetheart, have you really spent all day thinking such awful things?” Courf’s heart leaps at the term of endearment, and he sniffles slightly. The tears are slowing. He’s so incredibly confused now.

“Um, yes?” Combeferre tugs him into his arms, and Courfeyrac just goes boneless, allowing himself to be comforted.

“Oh, darling,” Combeferre hums. “What would make you think that?”

Courfeyrac sniffs again.

“I know you’re cheating on me,” he admits, shoulders slumping.

“I’m what?” Courf peers up at him, nervously. “Courfeyrac, I’m not cheating on you. Who – who told you that?”

“You did,” Courf sniffles. “On the phone with ‘Jolras. I overheard you talking to him about it, and I’m so, so sorry for snooping, I didn’t mean to. You said you needed more time with her, and that I was getting suspicious.” He looks down at his hands, chewing his lip balefully. His throat feels awfully tight, and he wants to jump out of his skin. “And I saw you – with, with her. That blonde woman. And I’m – I’m _happy_ for you, ‘Ferre, I really am.” He takes a deep breath, and says the hardest thing he will ever have to say. “I know I don’t make you happy anymore. So. I’m glad you found somebody who can.”

Combeferre sucks in a breath.

“You make me incandescently happy, Courfeyrac. I’m not cheating on you,” he emphasises. “It was meant to be a birthday surprise.”

“What was?” Combeferre opens his mouth, and then suddenly he’s speaking Spanish, and all Courf can do is stare at him.

“He estado aprendiendo español para usted.”

“You’ve…been learning Spanish? For me?” Combeferre shrugs, self-consciously.

“I wanted to surprise you, the next time we saw your Abuela.” Courfeyrac’s parents emigrated from Mexico before his birth, and brought his grandmother with them. She speaks very little French, and only a bit of English. Combeferre speaks French and English fluently, so they’re able to speak a little bit to each other, but anything more than perfunctory greetings and Courfeyrac has to interpret.

Combeferre has been learning Spanish, to surprise Courfeyrac by being able to talk to his grandmother the next time they saw her, and Courfeyrac assumed he was cheating on him.

Courfeyrac is the _worst_  boyfriend in the entire world.

“The woman you saw me with? That was Juanita. She’s from Spain. I know it isn’t the same as Mexican Spanish, but – are you okay?” Courfeyrac is crying again.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Ferre – hic – I really – hic – don’t deserve you.”

“What are you talking about? You have nothing to be sorry for. We’re going to have a serious conversation soon about taking care of ourselves, okay?” Courf nods, and he can barely even process the fact that he’s not being broken up with. Combeferre loves him. Loves him so much that he learned a new _language_  for Courfeyrac.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too. But, I have to ask, Courf; have I really treated you that badly that me cheating on you seemed like a logical idea?” Combeferre sounds incredibly distressed, and Courf hurries to soothe him.

“No, it’s just. You know me.” Courf makes a gesture meant to represent “and my fucked up mental health.”

“Courf. I need you to be honest with me.” Courfeyrac looks down.

“I…could do with a little more time with you. A lot more time, actually. It was only when you weren’t around that I started driving myself crazy thinking about this. I know you have to work and study, but…”

“Now that I’m not taking lessons from Juanita anymore, I’ll be free a lot more. And I’m going to spend all that time making this up to you, Courf. I let you down.” Courfeyrac begins frantically shaking his head, but Combeferre interrupts. “No, I did. And it won’t happen again, I swear it. I won’t let you be this miserable again if I can help it. I’ll make it up to you, darling. Because I love you.”

Courfeyrac buries his face in Combeferre’s neck.

“I love you too.”

“Can I kiss you?” Combeferre asks, and Courf nods eagerly. Just minutes ago, he’d thought he’d never get this again. It’s only a gentle press of lips, accompanied by the smell and feel of Combeferre. He feels so warm all the time, and Courfeyrac cuddles closer to him. He smells like hospital sanitizer, not entirely unpleasantly so, but also a scent that’s so uniquely Combeferre.

Courf is suddenly being cradled in ‘Ferre’s arms as he moves towards the bedroom.

“I don’t know if I can…” Courf says, and Combeferre laughs, which Courfeyrac feels reverberate through his body from the side pressed up against ‘Ferre’s chest.

“We’re not doing that, Courfeyrac.”

When they reach the bed, Combeferre gently lowers him down onto it. He leaves for a few moments before returning with two cups of hot chocolate, and helping Courf make a pile of blankets, which he slips into carefully, pulling Courfeyrac snug against him, and kissing all over his face. He starts with the forehead, makes his way down the nose, kisses each eyelid and cheekbone, until he reaches his lips, which he delivers a final peck to.

“I love you so much, and I don’t ever want to leave you. I’m so deeply sorry, Courf. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I love you too.” Courf has already forgiven him, but that goes unsaid. He cuddles closer into Combeferre, and feels so completely loved.

They have a lot of issues to work out, sure, Courf especially, but at the end of the day, Courf still has Combeferre, and his love.

And really, that’s all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> "He estado aprendiendo español para usted" = i've been learning Spanish for you  
> according to google translate & my brother who kind of speaks it
> 
> i hope u liked it!! sorry for any mistakes! let me know what u thought? idk i'm new to writing les mis fic so any constructive criticism would be much appreciated! also i'm kind of tempted to write a companion piece to this/an e/R sequel? 
> 
> let me know what u thought !!


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